Page 2 of Take Two (Valleywood: Season Three)

Chapter 2

Declan

The phone in my pocket dinged.

A distinctive sound assigned to that particular messaging app. I should have deleted it because only one person contacted me on it. But I couldn’t because he was the pack Alpha—and my father.

I was aware of his routine, and he would have shifted and done a perimeter run at dawn. Not that he didn’t have Betas for that. He had an array of them, and he kept them in line with his ferocious temper, combined with promises of assigning them a position with more power.

But there was only one job—his—that they coveted. And unless they ignored the obvious, they understood they weren’t in line. The position of heir had been filled but was temporarily vacant while said heir got his head together.

Father’s words not mine.

In reality the heir had taken off, never to return, because he didn’t want his life mapped out for him until he took his last breath.

And that person was me!

But Father never gave up hope that I’d reconsider, and the familial strings of love and guilt were so intertwined and knotted, I’d never been able to cut contact completely.

So, here I was at the bar, ready to start my day while my father sat at his desk, coffee in hand, and contemplated ways of bringing me home.

But I had a home, and it was here in Valleywood.

Taking a deep breath, I scanned the message.

I’m free. Will call in five .

A text I could deal with. It didn’t twist the knife in my belly, reminding me of our family tradition, stretching back centuries. How I was messing with our heritage and breaking the chain of command. Part of the pack’s strength was that the eldest son followed his father as Alpha, and if I didn’t assume my rightful place, it could destroy what our family had built.

It was BS. Maybe in the past when packs warred against one another for territory, but not in the twenty-first century.

I twisted my head and checked the clock behind me above the bar. Silly, really, when I was holding the phone and had a watch on my wrist. But I’d found that clock in a secondhand store a day before I left the pack. The frame was chipped and the wood tarnished, but it worked, the loud tick-tock punctuating the day with its reassuring sound.

The clock reminded me… of me. A little broken, but I’d built a new life for myself, and I still got up every day and thanked the sun for rising with me.

The phone rang, shattering my thoughts, and I slid the button to the side.

Be nice. Don’t shout . My wolf, while loyal to me, cringed at speaking to our father and Alpha in less than a deferential tone.

I’ll try .

“Declan.”

“Yes, Father. How are you?”

“Hoping today is the day you come to your senses.”

I bit back a response, that I’d had a moment of clarity when I made the decision to leave the pack. But if I blurted it out, we’d go through the same routine, arguing and eventually one of us would end the call. Usually me. And I’d fume the rest of the day until the sun came up the following morning.

“Are the snowdrops blooming in the field near the lake?” I pictured them dotting the snow-covered land around the water, and stretching toward the woods.

“They are. I was there earlier and they are magnificent this year. You should be here to pick a bunch.”

I did miss aspects of living in a group with my family and neighbors I’d known all my life. My old school friends, most of whom still lived on the land, worked in the nearest town and not for Father. They were given the freedom that wasn’t afforded to me.

“There are wildflowers near me, outside town.” There were a number of shrubs that bloomed in the snow, though they might have been obliterated during the blizzard.

Father scoffed and spat out, “Witch hazel, with its pitiful yellow blooms and spicy aroma. That doesn’t count.”

Thinking flowers were a safe topic, I crossed them off my mental discussion list. Father always brought the subject around to my behavior and how Valleywood could never compete with pack land.

We swerved and detoured through a range of conversation topics before I told him I had to start work.

“Work!” The venom in his voice was undeniable. He didn’t agree with selling or drinking alcohol, when it was my lifestyle choice, though during my childhood, he’d often sipped on a late-night whiskey before retiring to bed.

“Goodbye, Father,” I said tightly, hanging up. I tossed the phone aside and took a step back, extending my hands and gripping the bar. Pushing on the sturdy oak, I breathed in and out while staring at my scuffed boots. My belly churned and bile rose up my throat.

When I left the pack, I’d dreamed of making a success of my life and showing Father I could succeed without his backing. Much as he antagonized me, I did love him, and part of me always sought his approval, even when he pointed out how my business was failing.

Not that I’d told him about my financial situation, but he wasn’t stupid. From the tidbits I’d let slip, he’d sussed out the bar was in danger of going under and me with it.

When I’d bought the business, I had huge dreams of it being the favored watering hole for the rich and famous who frequented the movie studio down the block. And for a while that was the reality. The bar was kinda out of place in this neighborhood. It wasn’t modern with lots of gleaming metal surfaces and clean lines. The opposite. It was more like the places I’d grown up around, with wood, wrought iron, a log fire, and the feel of a cabin in the woods that gave you a hug when you walked in.

I guessed it appealed to those movie types, looking for something different.

But success always came with a price.

Many of my customers were wannabe actors who didn’t earn much, but they were no better than their well-off colleagues who believed the media hype about themselves.

And they often stiffed me regarding the bill.

I stood up to them, told them to stop treating one another with drinks they didn’t pay for. Said if they didn’t pay up, not to come back.

And they did exactly that. They no longer frequented my place.

Fine! I could survive without them. That was my attitude, while my wolf who understood little of finances whispered that I’d need to find a new clientele.

That proved to be difficult when word was spread on the actors’ grapevine that everyone should avoid my bar. Instead of being filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and high fives, The Wolf’s Den was reduced to a handful of regular customers trickling in, mainly from craft services on the movie lot and the security guys I said hello to when I passed the lot entrance.

I could accept failure, sell the bar and my apartment on the second floor for a loss, and move on. But I’d have to admit to Father I hadn’t succeeded on my own.

But there was a more pressing reason I stayed: my mate.

Not the man Father had chosen for me from a neighboring pack. No, my mate was someone I hadn’t met but not an arranged mating.

I’d caught a whiff of his scent around town and near the movie lot, and I refused to leave the love of my life before meeting and marking him. We could go anywhere together, and even if we had little money and I worked in someone else’s bar or drove a forklift, we'd be together and in love.

My wolf reminded me our mate had a vote as to where and how we lived.

Of course. I was giddy thinking of the future . But I’d do anything to save the bar and my home .

Anything? my wolf queried.

Almost anything . I wouldn’t crawl and grovel in order to get the small-time actors back. I had principles.

I was torn between selling and running away to a different life, and proving to my father I could stand on my own. But it was my mate that kept me grounded and hopeful that life might change when he walked into it.

To let off some steam after the phone call with Father, I quickly shoveled the sidewalk out front. Not that it would help bring in customers after the blizzard, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.

And as I greeted one of our regular customers who popped in for a drink after his shift, a tantalizing scent announced a tall delicious snack who’d wandered in. He had startling violet eyes and short-cropped blond hair.

He scented of mate, my mate.

Not a wolf. Not even a shifter. My beast wanted to get closer to sniff out the guy’s lineage.

He’s not human either .

I imagined Father’s reaction when I told him my mate might be fae. Not that I’d pinpointed who or what he was.

But I refused to let my father dictate my fate and studied the man I hoped to mark as he hovered in the doorway.

Would he scent me?